


What Never Was Is Now

by Laura_Mayfair



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Budding Love, F/M, Fate, Fluff, Friendship, Second Chances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 10:00:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3606027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura_Mayfair/pseuds/Laura_Mayfair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No attacks AU. A retired Admiral reads audio books for Titan Audio in his spare time. He has no idea that the Secretary of Education is a fan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Never Was Is Now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [newnumbertwo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/newnumbertwo/gifts).



> Written for the lovely newnumbertwo's birthday. Happy birthday, my dear!! :)
> 
> Big thank you to lanalucy for a beta session that went into the wee hours of the morning. This story is better because of you.
> 
> Also note -- I took a liberty with Sherman Cottle's name. In my headcanon only his wife, Beverly, calls him Sherman. He's been going by his middle name, "Jack" since high school.

_As wave is driven by wave_  
_And each, pursued, pursues the wave ahead,_  
_So time flies on and follows, flies, and follows,_  
_Always, for ever and new. What was before_  
_Is left behind; what never was is now;_  
_And every passing moment is renewed._

Ovid - _The Metamorphosis_

 

Bill was half-asleep when the knock on the door pulled him up from his chair. He tottered toward the sound, feeling a bit grouchy with the remnants of sleep still clinging to his eyes. A cloud of smoke wafted through the screen door and Bill knew whom he’d find waiting for him on the other side.

He was greeted with a scowl. “That fool mailman misdelivered another one of your packages.”

“Hello, Jack,” said Bill, opening the door and taking the battered box from his neighbor. He tilted his head toward the cigarette dangling from the older man’s mouth. “Smoking’s bad for you, you know.”

Jack blew a fine stream of smoke in Bill’s face. “Huh. You don’t say?”

“Sorry for the inconvenience,” said Bill, grimacing. He tucked the package under his arm. “You wanna come in?”

“No,” said Jack. “She’s got me grilling. Forecast says we’re in for an afternoon of rain but my Aerilon wife gets something in her head and there’s no talking her out of it. Why don’t you come on over? We could feed all of Caprica with the food she’s making.”

“Thanks,” said Bill. “I’ve got plans. Appreciate it though.”

Jack gave him a dubious look and Bill frowned. Even his neighbor was aware of his dismally inactive social life. He just couldn’t seem to get out of the funk he was in. Retirement was dull. Every day blended into the day before and then into the day after that. He missed his ship and his crew.

Most of all, he missed his sons.

“Five o’clock-ish,” said Jack, turning. “If you change your mind. Oh, and you’ve got some mail here, too.” He plucked a thick white envelope from Bill’s mailbox and handed it to him.

“Thanks.”

After Jack had left, Bill set the box on the table and sliced the envelope open with one stroke of the letter opener.

When he saw the return address, he knew what he’d find inside. He’d known it was coming, known that it needed to come. Closure, that’s what everyone said. He’d feel better once there was some closure, once it was all over. He sank down onto a kitchen chair.

Carolanne’s lawyer had finally sent over the divorce papers.

* * *

The only thing Laura wanted was for the world to stop spinning. She’d even settle for less spin at this point, or just a few precious seconds of relief from the overwhelming nausea. Sheer force of will kept her from throwing up on the plush burgundy carpet as she leaned against the wall of the elevator. Her body shook with the effort.

Billy watched her, arms folded tight across his chest. His anxious expression was much too heavy with care. She wanted to say she was sorry. This was not the way a twenty-two year old man should be spending his Friday night. But she was afraid speaking would fully destroy her waning control so the apology would have to wait. She hoped she’d have the wherewithal to remember later.

She managed to make it to her apartment door but all was lost the second the smell of the flowers hit her. The cloying scent was thick with the perfume of jasmine and lilies. It reminded her of funerals. Laura leaned against the door frame and lost the meager contents of her stomach, which was nothing more than some water and a couple of saltines. At least she’d managed to vomit on her welcome mat. It needed replacing anyway.

“I’ll just throw the mat out,” she rasped. Billy slid an arm around her waist and she didn’t protest this time. She wouldn’t make it without him. He lifted her.

Her head flopped against his shoulder. “Leave the flowers.”

Laura was pretty sure she heard her shy, sweet aide mumble something that sounded an awful lot like, “That frakker needs to stop sending you flowers that make you sick. Idiot.”

She wasn’t sure though. The pain meds were kicking in and her wooziness was making her thoughts swirl. She might have misheard him. Laughter bubbled up inside of her but her body, her traitorous body, had other ideas. She began to cry.

She couldn’t even remember Billy settling her into her chair but that’s where she found herself, propped up with a pillow. There was a cup of hot tea on the small table beside her. He’d taken off her shoes. Cool fingertips blotted her damp cheeks with a tissue. He squeezed her hand.

“It’s okay, Madame Secretary. I’ve got you.”

“I’m so sorry, Billy,” Laura heard herself murmur, squeezing back, just before her eyes closed again.

* * *

Billy hauled Laura’s trash out to the dumpster while she slept and he made sure the flowers were the first thing to go. Once her stomach settled, he’d help her get into bed.

This was the third round of chemo and the first time she hadn’t tried hiring someone to take care of her after it was over or, worse, tried to look after herself. He couldn’t bear the thought of her being left in the hands of some stranger or coming home to an empty apartment. The first twenty-four hours were always the worst. She needed family around her, people who loved her. Maybe they weren’t related by blood, but Laura Roslin was family just the same.

He’d packed a bag for the entire weekend and Billy would stay as long as he deemed she needed him, whether she liked it or not.

He glanced at Laura curled up asleep in the chair. Her breaths were even enough but her face was still etched with signs of pain, her brow creased, her lips tight and pale. She wouldn’t sleep for long, even with the meds. Not until tomorrow. Tomorrow she’d sleep so much Billy would have to rouse her every few hours at regular intervals, not just to give her medication, but also to reassure himself she was okay. He pressed his head into his hands and exhaled.

The doctor said her condition was stable. But there wasn’t enough progress to alter the initial prognosis. Still, the tumor hadn’t grown. That offered some small degree of hope.

 _Small degree of hope._ He wondered what the smallest unit of hope was and whether or not it would be enough.

* * *

 

Bill was taking the turkey breast out of the oven when the phone rang. He slid the pan onto the counter and wriggled a hand out of the oven mitt, just making it to the phone before the machine picked up.

“Adama,” he said, stretching the cord far enough to be able to lean over and close the oven door. He still answered the phone like he was on _Galactica_.

Old habits die hard.

“Hello, Admiral,” said a too-bright feminine voice that clearly did not belong to his son. “This is Daphne Taylor. From _Titan Audio_.”

Bill glanced at the clock and rubbed his forehead. “This isn’t a good time, Ms. Taylor.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. It will be very quick, I promise. Did you get the package I sent you?”

“Yeah,” said Bill. The pristine brown package remained unopened, sitting on top of his dry sink. He’d been using it for the past two weeks as a paperweight. It kept his divorce papers in order. It also made the glaring empty space feel less noticeable, the space where the pictures of Zak used to be.

“Well, we don’t want to rush you, but _Titan_ needs an answer by tomorrow.”

“I haven’t even had a moment to open the thing,” said Bill. “Right now I’m expecting an important phone call. I’ll have to call you back.” Bill began moving the phone away from his ear and back toward the cradle.

“Admiral,” the Titan representative said quickly, “Please take a look. Mr. Carlton asked for you personally and you did mention you liked his work.”

Bill paused. “Wait a minute. Do you mean _Hector_ Carlton?” He brought the mouthpiece back to his lips.

“Yes, sir.” There was a smile in the young woman’s voice. “He needs a reader for _Searider Falcon._ He hoped you’d be interested.”

“How long do I have to decide?”

“Until 1:00 tomorrow.”

“I’ll call you in the morning, Ms. Taylor.”

“Excellent. Thank you.”

Bill hung up the phone.

Clearly, Lee wasn’t coming. He should have arrived an hour ago and his ever-punctual son was never late. It was the third dinner invitation Bill had extended and the third time Lee had offered a bland, non-committal acceptance.

The third no-show.

Bill didn’t bother putting the vegetables on. He wasn’t hungry anyway. He could slice the turkey up and have sandwiches tomorrow.

He picked the box up from the dry sink and peered at the glossy label. He’d never expected another offer to read for _Titan_. A friend of a friend from his book club had gotten him the first job. They’d wanted a “weathered” voice for the jaded narrator of _Love and Bullets_ and he’d fit the bill.

It had given him something to do after Zak died, in between the marriage counseling sessions and the increasingly bitter fights with Carolanne. He’d still had hope then that his marriage was salvageable. The silence on both sides after the separation should have clued him in. He knew now, though, how good he was at denial. Carolanne wasn’t right about everything but she was right about that.

Maybe reading for _Titan_ again would be a good distraction. He needed to get out of the house and out of his cluttered head. Lee might come around on his own if he just gave him a little space and some more time.

Maybe.

He pulled the letter opener out of the drawer and broke the seal on the box.

* * *

Laura was back at work as soon as the residual effects of her latest chemo treatment began to subside. She had vowed to make it through an entire day without an afternoon nap but will alone wasn’t enough to beat back the wave of exhaustion that hit her after her first two morning meetings. She read the same sentence over and over again until the words on the page blurred, until her head dipped down toward the desk and she could barely sit up straight.

She had the distinct sensation someone was watching her and she looked up to see Billy approaching the open doorway to her office, his brow furrowed with concern.

She sat up straighter.

He stepped into her office. “You have a couple of hours until your next meeting, Madame Secretary.”

Laura understood this pronouncement was Billy-speak for _Get some rest, already. Please._ Her poor aide looked as withered and tired as she felt.

“Oh, good. I have some work to catch up on. Could you buzz me in an hour?”

This was Laura’s way of saying, yes, she would take a quick nap. Billy’s relief was visible. The shadowed heaviness of his features lightened a little. He smiled.

“You left your MP3 player on my desk.” He placed it in her hand.

“Thank you.”

When Billy left, Laura opened up the closet and took out the familiar throw with its cheerful cascade of daisies. She could still see her mother’s knotted hands working the crochet hook through the soft yarn, the stitching tight and sure, even at the end when she was losing the same battle Laura was fighting now.

The couch was too new to be comfortable but it would do. Laura picked up her MP3 player and selected “the book” as Billy had begun to call the only thing she wanted to listen to these days. It wasn’t even that great a book -- _Of Love and Bullets_ \-- but she liked the narrator’s voice, the deep pebbled baritone with its sturdy timbre. It was solid and comfortable and didn’t grate on her ears or her nerves. Chemo made her so sensitive to everything, she’d found there was less and less she could tolerate.

“The book” went with her everywhere, drowning out the depressing drip of the IV when she was having her treatments. It even quieted the anxious voice in her head wondering how long she really had left. She saw her doctors exchanging knowing looks as they rifled through her most recent test results. She knew what their somber expressions meant.

Borrowed time.

She did miss traditional reading and sometimes she longed for the feel of a book in her hands, the smell of fresh ink, and the crisp sound the pages made when she turned them. But reading often triggered her already queasy stomach and the audiobook was a surprisingly satisfying alternative.

She just wished this particular reader had other offerings, this William Adams, with his mellow plum-colored voice as lush as the glass of red wine she used to enjoy with her evening meal. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d indulged in her nightly ritual. Diloxin and wine don’t mix.

The audiobook worked its soothing magic and it wasn’t long before she drifted off. She dreamed about her mother, not the troubling dreams she usually had of her frail and pallid with illness, but a happier dream about planting flowers at their lakeside cabin, just the two of them. Her sisters had never had the patience for gardening and her father could kill a desert cactus.

“Spring is coming,” her mother told her, gazing up at the sky with a soft smile.

But Laura knew better. Spring wasn’t coming. It was midsummer and it wouldn’t be long before the cooler temperatures of autumn arrived. They should be planting mums and dahlias now, not the spring assortment of seedlings her mother carried in the basket draped over her arm, neatly arranged in their small packets.

Laura shook her head and picked up a packet of tulips. “It’s too late for these, Mom.”

“It isn’t, darling,” Judith insisted, handing her a pouch of mountain laurel, the hearty white and pink flowers she’d been named for, flowers that could flourish along steep ridges and rocky slopes. She tucked a stray red curl behind Laura’s ear and cupped her cheek.

The intercom buzzed and Laura jolted awake, disoriented by the abrupt contrast between the sunlit garden and the dimness of her office. She sat up and straightened the itchy, detested wig before pressing the button to respond.

“Twenty minutes before your 2:00, Madame Secretary,” said Billy.

“Thank you.”

“And -- your doctor called.”

“Oh. Okay,” said Laura, her throat suddenly dry.

She picked up the phone and dialed the familiar number.

Waiting for him to answer the page was a purgatory no one should ever have to endure. Her hands were clammy as she gripped the phone and she could feel the rapid beat of her own pulse hammering.

“Hello, Laura -- “

“Just tell me,” she said, her voice crystalline and sharp.

“It’s shrinking,” he said, not without a measurable degree of astonishment. “The tumor. It’s... shrinking.”

* * *

_Nine Months Later_

Billy Keikeya was enjoying the first day off he’d had in months. It was a campaign year and they’d all been working round the clock. He strolled along the Riverwalk, people-watching and stopping at intervals to check out items the street vendors were selling. The winding paths bustled with Capricans restless from cabin fever after having been cooped up too long during the snowiest winter they’d seen in years. Dirty patches of snow still lined the sidewalks and it was almost April.

The snow wouldn’t last much longer though. Today was positively balmy. Billy had slung his jacket over his arm long ago. Music wafted from the park. It had to be a live band from the sound of it. The snappy rhythms and smooth vocals drew the crowds away, making it easier to browse the vendors’ stalls without bumping into people or having to wait for lines to clear.

A small booth of ships in bottles caught Billy’s eye. He’d always been fascinated by the intricate craftsmanship and the history of the art. He wandered over to take a closer look. A customer held up one of the bottles in his hands and was engrossed in conversation with the seller, who seemed equally absorbed.

Billy picked up a bottle that contained a model pirate ship, complete with a ragged skull and crossbones flag. It reminded him of one of the pictures from the book of pirate stories his dad used to read to him at bedtime when he was a kid. He smiled.

Placing the bottle back down on the counter, Billy glanced at the customer again. There was something so familiar about the man but he was sure he’d never laid eyes on him before. He felt like he was on the cusp of recognition but it was always just out of reach.

And then it dawned on him.

His voice.

He’d heard it enough times, the unusual timbre, rich like burnished gold, sonorous and deep. The grainy overlay was unmistakable. It was a voice shaped by the heft of experience, unhurried in its dignified grace. The man was older, maybe in his late fifties. He had the olive coloring and sturdy build Billy associated with people from Tauron. His dark hair was peppered with gray. It was surreal, matching a face to the familiar voice. He just wished Laura were here to confirm he wasn’t losing it. This guy -- it had to be him.

Too late, Billy realized he was openly staring. The two men had stopped talking. The vendor was speaking to another patron now and the man he suspected was Bill Adams looked back at him, his azure gaze as penetrating as his voice.

“Uh, hi,” said Billy. “Sorry. I thought....I didn’t mean to stare. You just seemed familiar. Your voice seemed familiar, I mean. You don’t happen to um -- do you read audiobooks?”

The man just looked at him.

Billy reddened. “By any chance?”

“Looks like you’ve just met your first fan, Dad.” A tall brown-haired man strolled over. He clapped the older man on the back. His eyes were startlingly blue and a few shades lighter than his dad’s. He gave Billy an easy smile.

“His second audiobook is coming out next week,” said the younger man with an air of pride. “I’m Lee Adama, by the way. Hi.”

Billy extended his hand. “Billy Keikeya.”

“And I’m Bill Adama.” Bill gave Billy a firm handshake. You’ve got a good ear, son.”

“Not really. Your voice is distinctive and I’ve heard it -- a lot.”

Bill raised an eyebrow. “You like _Love and Bullets_ that much?”

“My boss. She was sick last year. She -- listened to your audiobook. Often.” Billy laughed. “I’m making an idiot out of myself. It was just such a surprise to hear you in person. You’re a great narrator.”

“Thank you, Billy. It’s just a hobby. Keeps me out of trouble in retirement. Your boss...how’s she doing now?”

Billy beamed. “Oh, she’s much better.” He wanted to tell him more, wanted to thank him for the solace he’d brought to Laura when he thought he was going to lose her. He swallowed back the sudden flood of emotion. “Can I ask what your next book is or...is that confidential?”

“It’s another one that’s not too well known. Happens to be one of my favorites though. _Searider Falcon_."

Billy’s stomach dropped out from under him, a whirling roller-coaster sensation, a stunning chill that made his breath catch. In his mind’s eye, he saw Laura’s worn and well-loved copy. He’d never actually read it but Laura....Laura adored that book.

“You know it, then?”

Billy nodded. “Oh, yeah, I’ve heard of it.”

“Dad’s got a few advance copies of the audiobook,” Lee piped in. “Maybe your boss would like an autographed copy?”

“Really? You’d do that?”

“Of course,” said Bill. “I’d be happy to. Let me get her address. I’ll post it first thing tomorrow. You have a pen, Lee?”

“Not on me,” said Lee, almost a little too quickly. “I didn’t bring my jacket.” He turned to Billy. “You and your boss work in Caprica City?”

“In the capital building.”

“Why don’t you bring it over, Dad?” said Lee, nudging his father’s arm. His eyes twinkled. “Meet the lady.”

“I don’t want to put you on the spot,” said Billy.

Lee laughed. “Are you kidding? You made his day.”

Bill shot his son a _look._

“She has some time in the morning,” said Billy hopefully.

Lee gave another cheeky grin. “Morning work for you, Dad?”

“Yeah. 10:00 okay?” asked Bill.

Billy did a quick mental flip-through of Laura’s Wednesday schedule.

“That's perfect. I’ll meet you in the lobby at ten. She’s going to be -- very surprised.”

* * *

As the morning plodded along, Billy began to worry about whether Laura would be pleased or dismayed by his surprise guest. She was a private person and he hadn’t meant to blurt out information about her illness to a total stranger. It had just slipped out. And for some reason, Bill didn’t feel like a stranger. Billy wondered if she would make the connection the way he had. It was a pretty staggering coincidence, to say the least.

Really, what were the odds?

Maybe these two were _meant_ to meet. A coincidence that was more than a coincidence. True synchronicity...Fate. Billy had never given such things a whole lot of credence before but maybe this was different.

“I’m going to get a cup of coffee,” he told Laura, poking his head in her office a couple of minutes before ten. “You want one?”

Laura was engrossed in her paperwork. She didn’t look up. “No, thank you, Billy.”

He watched her brush invisible strands of hair away from her shoulder. She’d stopped wearing wigs a couple of weeks ago, rejoicing when she finally had enough hair to have it cut and styled. The short pixie suited her small features but Billy knew she must miss having her trademark long hair. It was good to see it growing back in, wonderful to see color returning to her cheeks. She didn’t need an afternoon nap anymore and she’d finally put on some weight. Each milestone, however big or small, was a victory.

Bill was already waiting for him when Billy arrived downstairs. He carried a small paper shopping bag with a rounded handle, the kind they give out at boutiques and quaint little bookstores. Billy helped him get settled in at the security desk with a visitors’ badge and was surprised when the attendant knew him on sight.

 _Admiral_ Adama.

The name suddenly rang a bell. Adams must be a pseudonym then. Billy would have to look back at his calendar but he wondered if this was the same Admiral whose decommissioning ceremony they’d had to miss, when the first signs of Laura’s cancer had begun to surface, right around the time of her diagnosis.

“You never did tell me the name of your boss,” said Bill, as they rode up together on the elevator.

“Laura Roslin. She’s -- “

“ -- the Secretary of Education,” finished Bill.

“You know her?”

“No. But I’ve heard the name.”

The elevator gave its friendly chime and the doors opened. “Right this way, Admiral,” said Billy, motioning toward the anteroom of Laura’s office.

“Just Bill.”

“Have a seat, sir,” said Billy. He directed Bill toward the comfiest leather chair in the waiting area. “I’ll get her.”

Laura’s door was still open so he peeked in. She was exactly where he’d left her, poring over a stack of papers.

“Madame Secretary?”

“Billy,” said Laura, shooting him a miffed look above her glasses, “you really do have to start calling me Laura.”

He grinned. They’d had this conversation many times before.“Yes, ma’am.”

She glowered at him but there was nothing in the look but affection. “Ma’am doesn’t count, you know.”

“There’s someone here to see you.”

“Oh?”

“Come on,” said Billy, feeling a little bit like a child on the morning of Winter Solstice. Whatever inexplicable impulse had caused him to do this crazy thing, it felt right.

It was right.

Laura rose and followed him with a look of amused indulgence on her face. She stopped, however, when she saw Bill, and all smiles evaporated. The very atmosphere seemed to hold its breath as they gazed at one another from across the room.

“Madame Secretary,” said Bill quietly. He made his way toward her. “It’s good to meet you.”

“This is Admiral Adama, Madame Secretary,” said Billy.

“Bill,” he corrected. He reached out and took Laura’s hand. It didn’t look like any handshake Billy had ever seen. In fact, it looked more like two people holding hands, not shaking them. There was no shaking involved in the action at all.

Laura stepped closer and tilted her head. “I know you?” It was one of those questions that sounded more like a statement.

Bill smiled. “Just my voice.” He released Laura’s hand and rooted around awkwardly in the small brown paper bag without taking his eyes off her for even a millisecond. Finally, he pulled out the audiobook and placed it in her hand.

“This one’s a lot better than _Love and Bullets_ ,” he chuckled, “although I can’t take credit for either of them. Not really.”

“ _Searider Falcon_. Oh, my gods,” said Laura. She looked from Billy to Bill and then back again. “How?”

“Your assistant ran into me down at the Riverwalk yesterday and recognized my voice. I’ve gotta say, no one’s ever recognized my voice before and I suspect he’ll be the only one who ever does. It’s a good feeling though,” he added quickly, like he wanted to make sure she understood he was pleased. “My son was right. It did make my day.”

“This is one of my favorite books.” Laura studied the cover of the audiobook in her hand, tracing the title with her index finger as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was holding. “Would you --”

She cleared her throat. “Do you think you could --

Billy had never seen poised and graceful Laura Roslin look so flustered.

“ -- autograph it for me?”

Bill’s eager smile gave new light to his features. It was like watching dawn break after a long and dreary night. “You have a pen?”

Billy dug a pen out of the front pocket of his suit jacket and placed it in Bill’s hand. The older man closed his fingers around the object but Billy doubted it even registered that he’d been given anything.

This was probably an ideal time to make an exit. He smiled to himself and tiptoed toward the door without making a sound.

It wouldn’t have mattered if he'd set off a fire alarm; neither of them would have noticed anyway.


End file.
